


025 - Messy Bedrooms

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 13:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Van McCann would not care if your bedroom was messy or not.





	025 - Messy Bedrooms

After you strung fairy lights along the curtain rods and other high spaces of your new flat, you sat on the couch and watched Jules cover the floor in balloons. The common spaces - kitchen, lounge, hall, bathroom - were all set up and moved into. It had only taken you and Jules a week to settle into the new place, and now it was time to celebrate with a housewarming party. When she was done you followed her into her bedroom, which was already unpacked and tidy. You sat on her bed and watched her pick a dress.

"Do you think I need to clean my room?" you asked. She'd already vacuumed the floor, too.

"Are you planning on having anyone come into your room?"

She posed a good question. Did you plan on inviting anyone into your bed? You weighed it up in your head. Pro: You could drink a lot at the party because you didn't have to find your way home. This means you'd be more relaxed and more likely to want to fool around. Con: Most people at the party would be people you already knew. Pro: Sex is good. Con: What if they didn't leave your bed after, and you couldn't exactly leave the place yourself.

"I don't know," you finally answered her.

In the end you did not clean your room. You left the half unpacked boxes there, the bed unmade, and the clothes and random possessions littered around. If you did end up with anyone, you'd borrow Jules' room, or test your flexibility and balance in the bathroom. Whatever.

…

There were far more people at the party than you had anticipated. Jules invited literally every person she knew, and asked them all to bring literally every person they knew. The music was loud, the cupcakes were cute, and someone was walking around covering people with glitter. You had no idea what was happening, but you were in love with the night.

You were standing at the window that reached from floor to ceiling in the lounge room. It was your favourite part of the flat. Your forehead was pressed to the glass and the lights of the city were twinkling. You were humming to the music, and holding a glass.

"You alright, love," someone asked. They stood next to you. You rotated your head, but kept it pressed to the glass. It was a boy who was a lot taller than you. His hair was parted in the middle and his eyelashes were long and thick.

"Are you wearing mascara?" you asked immediately. He laughed and his eyebrows raised in amusement. "Because your eyelashes are very, very, very long."

"I am not," he told you. As if. "You're alright though?" he asked again. You nodded.

"Why wouldn't I be?" you asked back, standing and looking at him more closely. He had a patch of freckles on the bridge of his nose. He wore all black, but maybe the shirt was dark navy. There was a necklace dipping into the shirt, and you wanted to know what was hanging from the chain.

"The leanin' against the wall was a red flag,"

"Oh, I just like the lights," you said. You weren't as drunk as you may have looked, spacing out against the glass. "Thank you for checking though. That's a super good dude move."

"It's alright," he said smiling. His teeth were cute and his smile was cuter, but you were still very distracted by his eyelashes. "Have you ever worn mascara?" He laughed again and shook his head no. "Would you be willing to?" you asked. You bit your lip involuntarily, and he licked his lips in reaction. His eyes flicked down to your bare feet, then to the gap of exposed skin where your shirt and skirt didn't quite meet. Back up, and his smile was more of a sly grin.

"I might… if a pretty girl asked nicely."

…

You led him down the hall and into your room. When the door was closed behind you the music was drowned out. Van, he told you his name, walked to where you'd set up a record player on your dresser. There was a stack of records next to it, but most of what you owned were still in a box.

"There are more," you told him when you noticed his interest, "…in this box." You pointed to one with a blue circle sticker on it. He moved the box without hesitation and started to go through it, kneeling on the floor. He didn't seem to feel awkward in the foreign space. You started your search for your makeup. You'd been using Jules' all week.

"The Kooks!" Van called happily, and carefully dropped the vinyl onto the player. Around Town filled the empty soundscape. He moved to sit on the edge of your bed.

"This is one of my favourite songs," you told him as you found your makeup bag. You stood in front of him.

"I'll tell them you said that," Van said, which was confusing, but you were still too distracted by his eyelashes to care about anything else.

"Are you really letting me do this?" you asked again and held up a tube of mascara. He nodded and smiled. You wondered what else he'd let you do to him. "Okay. Here. Sit with your back against the headboard," you directed. He did what you said. His long legs stretched out in front of him, and he kicked his shoes off. You must have looked confused, or something, because he said,

"I don't want to get dirt on your bed,"

"So considerate," you replied. You climbed on top of him, one leg either side of him so you could be close to his face. You put one hand on his shoulder, mostly to steady yourself, and told him to look up and not blink. He did well. He was entirely still while you applied the mascara. When you were done you looked at him. "Oh my god," was all you could say.

"What have you done?"

"I.. You… It was like, you were the prettiest person I'd ever seen and your face was just perfect but now it's even more perfect? I'm very into what we have achieved here today, Van," you said. It was true. You didn't know if it was the breakdown of gender roles that you were into, or if it was that his eyelashes were so long that they brushed his face every time he blinked. You held up a little heart shaped mirror. He smiled at his reflection.

"I'm beautiful."

You laughed and nodded. You moved off him and felt suddenly that his hands had been on your hips the whole time. You were putting your makeup, now that it was found, on your dresser where it belonged. You heard Van stand. You turned around, leant against the dresser and watched him walk around the room.

"Sorry it's a mess, I-"

"No, it's fine. Mine's the same, and I don't have the excuse of just movin' in, ya know?" He sat cross-legged on the floor. He started to look through the things around him. "Your stuff says a lot about you," Van said.

"Like what?"

"Well… you have more vinyl than CDs… so there's something about that warm crackling sound you like. Music is more than just sound. It's atmosphere, yeah? And your band shirts are all hung on the chair there, but there's like, five dresses on the ground. You've unpacked books, but it took you a while to find your makeup. You also drink a lot of water, there's a bunch of empty bottles under your bed already. You've only been 'ere for, what, a week? And you care about other people more than yourself. You helped Jules sort the house out before you sorted your own room out."

He was right, about it all, and it was impressive if not just a little bit creepy. You stood next to him and he looked up at you with a grin. "What about you?"

"What about me?" he replied.

"What does your room say about you?"

"That I'm not there much, probably. I live with my best mate, Larry. We tour a lot, so I never really decorated or anything like that," he tells you, as he flips through a notebook that was on a pile of novels. It's the one you write in. Usually if someone opened it you'd be quick to snatch it up and tell them off. You didn't know why you were letting him look at it. Still sitting cross-legged at your feet, he leant into your legs as he read. "This is your writing?" he asked. You nodded, but he didn't look up.

"Yeah," you whispered. The feeling of his hair against your legs was… something. Not good. Not bad. Distracting.

"You're good," he said to you, and you didn't reply. Your knees felt a little weak. He looked up. Fuck. You forgot about the mascara. So goddamn pretty. "Are you alright?" he asked, and you nodded. The sly grin from before came back and he stood up. He cocked his head to the side. "Maybe you should lie down," he suggested. You smiled, bit your lip and crawled slowly on the bed. He came and slid down next to you. "I like your room," he said. You laughed. "I also like your face a lot."

"Thanks. Grew it myself."

He laughed and moved closer. There were only a few centimetres between you.

"So… what next?" he asked.

"What next?" you repeated, confused.

"Yeah. Pretty girl asks to put mascara on me. I say yes. I mean, you could take advantage of that and ask to do anything to me, and I'd probably say yes."

"Anything?"

"Anything."


End file.
